
Kind of Blue
Davis handed the players sketches on the day and most of what you hear is a first take. Two sessions, and it was done.

Davis handed the players sketches on the day and most of what you hear is a first take. Two sessions, and it was done.

American comedy has never been funnier, and the Legion of Decency was appalled: Wilder ran a single disguise for two hours without ever letting the joke thin out.

Two chords and all the space in the world, Davis proving that less was the most radical idea in jazz.

Every spy thriller since owes it something, James Bond most of all: Hitchcock chases an innocent man across America by crop duster and over Mount Rushmore, enjoying himself throughout.
Twelve minutes left at a Pennsylvania dance, so Charles improvised it on his Wurlitzer and many stations banned it.

Morello kept soloing in five, so the quartet built him a tune in 5/4; Desmond wrote the theme.

The French New Wave announces itself: Truffaut put his own miserable childhood on screen at twenty-seven, and the last shot changed what an ending was allowed to do.

Oskar decides on his third birthday to stop growing, keeps his tin drum, and screams glass to pieces while the Nazis take Danzig. Grass forced postwar Germany to look at itself through him.

A twelve-bar blues in 6/8, take two the only complete one, and Paul Chambers' bass figure underneath everything.

Columbia refused to let him record the words to Fables of Faubus, an attack on a segregationist governor, so it appears as an instrumental.

Ronald Isley improvised the call and response onstage extending Lonely Teardrops, and RCA packed the room with friends answering.

Coleman played a white plastic saxophone because it was what he could afford, and half the musicians in New York thought he was a fraud.
Lester Young died two months before the session, and Mingus answered with a slow blues named for his hat.

Every piece is in an unusual meter. Take Five is in five beats to the bar and was written by the saxophonist, Paul Desmond, not Brubeck.

Strings, timpani and a Brazilian baion; Wexler reportedly dismissed the playback as a radio caught between two stations.

Terry Johnson dreamed the arrangement, called the group to rehearse at 4 a.m., and Goldner drowned it in reverb.

Hawks made it as an argument against High Noon: instead of a marshal begging for help, four flawed men hold a jail and enjoy each other's company doing it.
Richard Wess's arrangement climbs a semitone verse after verse, and Darin rides the tension to his only number one.

One Cairo alley holds human history entire. Its founder withdraws into a great house, and each generation raises a redeemer, Adam then Moses then Jesus then Muhammad, defeated by the same protection racket.

The novelist Anthony Burgess called this the greatest literary biography of the century. Ellmann reconstructs Joyce day by day, the debts and the eye operations and the exact Dublin talk that became Ulysses.

Myths and marriage rules work like languages, Lévi-Strauss argues, built from unconscious oppositions. His dissection of the Oedipus myth taught Paris to treat culture itself as a code.

Charles Trenet wrote it about the sea; Jack Lawrence's English lyric made it a love song, and Darin swung it.

Addiction as the model for every kind of control: Burroughs turns junk sickness into a shrieking comic nightmare of mad doctors, police, and addicts. Massachusetts put it on trial for obscenity and lost.

Thesiger crossed Arabia's Empty Quarter twice with Bedu companions, on a pint of water a day. He loved that life, knew oil money would end it, and wrote this as its elegy.

From a medieval massacre of the Jews of York to Auschwitz, one family produces in each generation one of the thirty-six hidden just men whose suffering, by legend, holds up the world.

The Army-McCarthy hearings lawyer Joseph Welch plays the judge and Duke Ellington wrote the score: a murder trial turning on an alleged rape, argued in language so frank that 1959 audiences were shocked.

Ten thousand dollars of insurance money reaches a Chicago apartment and a Black family goes to war over what it is for. Broadway had never staged a play by a Black woman before.

The chariot race took months to shoot and has never been bettered: Wyler's epic runs almost four hours and earns every minute of the nine it spends inside that arena.

An 1895 St. Louis barroom killing, remade by Price into a number one he re-recorded clean for American Bandstand.

The pianist Bobby Timmons wrote the title tune as a joke riff the band kept asking him to finish. It answers itself like a hymn.

Philip II handed his invasion fleet to a duke who pleaded seasickness. Mattingly tells 1588 as a European crisis, not an English one, and the defeat he reconstructs stops the Counter-Reformation's advance.

What holds men to war, Gray decided, is the spectacle, the comradeship, and a delight in destruction nobody admits to. The day his Columbia doctorate arrived, so did his draft notice.

Antarctic pack ice crushes their ship in 1915, leaving twenty-eight men on a drifting floe. Shackleton sails an open boat eight hundred miles for help. Lansing reconstructed it all from the crew's diaries.

Sharp and Karpeles collected this Scottish ballad in the Appalachians in 1916; Simone slows it to near-stillness at Town Hall.

A Lake Charles bellhop wrote it for a woman, and Khoury's tiny label carried the swooning triplets to number two.

Neil Sedaka on piano, Darin's own chord discovery, and a wish for an ideal partner that topped Britain.